At Play in the Garden

"Then I see she's rubbing her hand, I remember her doing that in the club, too, and I take it and start massaging her straight fingers with black nails, and tell Pleats to do the other one."

"I could see my work was done, man, so I get up to use the bathroom and leave them there on the balcony, with Pleats massaging up her arm. I just kicked it inside after that, thinking I ought to get my own radio show for this counseling shit. But like five minutes later the glass door opens and she comes inside with Pleats behind and she sits next to me and says she wants to learn how to massage a hand the way I just did, and held out her palm for me to demonstrate on. And that was fucking it."

"Next thing I know my tongue's down her throat and Pleats is rubbing her feet. Then my tongue came out and my dick went in, and she sucked my cock without even acknowledging Pleats was in the room. I could tell he wasn't cool with it, and went over and sat in the chair by the kitchen. 'Fuck it,' I thought, and reached over and unsnapped her long skirt, and started to slip it down, and then I seen her fine ass reveal itself, and I saw black frilly underwear with a spider web lace on the hipbones, and that luckily reminded me what a basket-case she was or else I would've covered her back up until I'd smacked Pleats right out of my apartment and horded this fine-ass chick all to myself, but fuck, I was seriously afraid to be alone with this nut. I don't have the patience or energy for moody freak-out's, you know."

"And I'm telling you, this chick was pretty fine. She had skinny arms, a healthy chest, narrow waist, some generous thighs, and a dick hungry ass. I finally start fucking her, and Pleat's never leaves his chair. I was tapping the love of his life right in front of the loser. I then decided to flat out ruin her for him, and I hammered that pussy like I'd never hammered a pussy before. I kept expecting her to pull away, but she took it. She took it as hard as I could give it, dude. She was one sassy fuck bunny––the sassiest––and I rode her relentlessly. I packed her full of so much cock I thought she'd bust at the seams. That girl was taking a licking and kept on trickin'"

I laughed, and that egged Kyle on.

"I fucking totaled her, dude, I drove her blue book value straight into the ground. I fucking brought this vampire back from the dead––had her blood-sucking-ass sucking on cum."

"When I was done I threw them out, and let Pleats drive her home. I was a dog man. Pleats quit the band over it, but I was going to replace him anyway. She was the best fuck I've ever had, just took it all, and I already wanted to fuck her again, but I wasn't going to do the relationship thing. I still fucked her a bunch after that, until she finally got a clue and realized all she was going to get off me was thorough pounding, because that's what a dog I am, dude!"

And that was Kyle's story about 'that' girl, which the big-mouth, degrading bastard just loved to share. And I'll admit that at the time, having never met the slutty piece of meat he triumphantly nailed in front of Pleats, I really didn't think too much of her.

But as I said, when I finally did meet her out at breakfast, hosting at the restaurant, my opinion of 'that' girl in Kyle's story changed. I instantly understood that the shallowness was completely one sided. She was a victim, a dreamy demure victim. If Kyle had never carried her books that day and just left her to be berated by those stuck-up girls, she probably would've been better off just hating him.

When she called me a few days after I'd left my number on a to go menu, she was still very unsure about me, understandable given my acquaintances. I tried my best to be charming on the phone, however, and after laughing together for a half hour or so, she agreed to meet me for a date.

We met for lunch, then afterwards went for a walk along the beach, and as our feet sunk into the cold wet sand by the water, she asked, "What do you really want?"

I wanted to give her an honest answer, and as I thought about it the heaviness of the ocean winds and all the salt and smells of seaweed stimulated my courage to go with my heart, and I quickly answered, "Just someone to appreciates kindness and enjoys being treated like the most special prize in the world, because that's all I really have to offer." It would have been corny, except it was the truth, and she knew it.

Two weeks later I waited for her to get dressed in her apartment, and I unconsciously loosened the burnt wick on one of her dozens of candles while staring at myself in an old, black, iron, framed mirror. I could hardly believe I was in her room, and then her beautiful face emerged behind me, and I noticed her shirt was gone, showing off her black frilly bra. I turned around to face her, and saw the spooky looking cross she wore between her tits.

"What should I wear? Are we doing fancy?" she asked, and only then did I see the two blouses she held in either hand. Ignoring her question, I just made a move to kiss her. It heated up quick, and we kissed our way into her messy bedroom. She put on some music, something called Emilie Autumn, and it was filled with violins and a moody sensual female voice––and not the noisy metallic Goth I'd expected to be her 'thing'. The apartment was cheap, modern, stucco, drywall, and grey paint, but all that disappeared behind the bits and pieces of second hand antiques she'd collected. Above her lacy white bed was a black sheet of paper tacked to the wall, with the large blood red inscription, 'A HEART ON FIRE'.

I removed her bra, and for the first time I saw those fat tits, nipples and all. And with the setting sun spilling in from between the blinds, turning her pale flesh a vibrant red, I nibbled and dined on those perfect tits, and traced her pink nipple over and over with my tongue, until I knew I had to move on, there was so much more of her, and I couldn't wait to know every inch.

I lovingly fucked her for a half-hour, outlasting the sun light, and climaxing in a pitch black room. When I flipped on the lights, she looked a little uncomfortable to be fully exposed in front of someone she'd only known a few weeks. I felt exactly the opposite; and hugged her up in my arms.

"We'd better get ready or we're never going to get in."

"Wait," I said, stopping her from rushing to her closet. "Can I just look at you for a minute?" She smiled, a little kinkiness in it, and then did a sweet, stylish twirl for me. When my minute was up, she stood there in open posture and with eyes that were full reddish-brown moons, awaiting my request next. She then eagerly asked, "What now? Dress?"

Something told me even then that I could've asked her to come back into bed and fuck me all over again, and she would've. Or I could have asked her to make us some macaroni with only an apron on, or pretty much anything I could imagine, and she would've obeyed without a single word of defiance. That obedient stare of hers was amazingly empowering. I actually grew a little bit scared, because that kind of power trip will test what kind of man you really are.

I managed to keep my requests respectful that evening. I wanted to be the gentleman I'd promised to be, and make her forget about ever having a past with anyone else.

She showed me some dresses she made by removing sections of old clothes and assembling parts from various dresses. She'd stolen the idea from watching Pretty in Pink, and I said, "Didn't those dresses look shitty? These are pretty awesome. I'd hardly say you stole the idea if this is what you're coming up with." And what she had come up with were some amazing combinations, although, she'd never wear them. Maybe on a special occasion, but that was it. I loved this aspect of her life, and with tons of encouragement, she began wearing them every so often.

I also loved the way hickeys looked on her pale flesh. I'd leave little marks all over her body, and if she had on a dress, I would pull the collar an inch to the side, suck lightly until a red little almond appeared, and then cover it back up, leaving the precariously positioned hickey to be revealed if her dress should shift ever so slightly, or buckle just a tiny bit in the right spot.

In no time at all, I began to not only love the hickeys and clothes, but everything about her. The thing is, I went into the relationship feeling absolutely non-judgmental, and that in itself is a liberating, wonderful experience, and allowed me to examine her deeper and accept everything I found. It was an amazingly exciting way to approach someone, and we had a euphoric first six months.

Eventually my friends began to wonder where I'd gone to, and it wasn't long before word got around I was seeing Rosemary. Kyle was one of the first to call and complain. It was a Sunday, and Rosemary coming over. While I waited, I drank a beer and lay back on my couch, and then the phone rang, and he launched right into it.

"Dude, Tell me you are not dating that chick!"

"What's up, Kyle?"

"Do not get serious with her! I'm telling you, Less!"

I just laughed.

"You don't date a girl like that, you get your dick wet and then move on––lose her number."

Without directly telling him he was an asshole, I tried to explain that she'd just fucked up, and she really wasn't 'that' girl.

"Wasn't 'that' girl? Then who the hell did I plug my dick into? Because it sure as fuck looked like her."

"She thought you were someone else."

"Who the fuck she think I was, the Federal Bureau of Pussy Inspection? I was fucking her, dude, and not just once, so how can she say she didn't know who I was? Doesn't it bother you?"

"Nope, doesn't bother me, and you'll get over it."

"I ain't getting over it. I can't just pretend nothing ever happened. Fuck, dude, I shoved Stanz's drumsticks in her snatch and had her fuck herself with them. And I can't just wipe that sight out of my head, dude."

"Listen, Kyle, shut the fuck up, you're crossing a line."

"See! This is exactly what I mean. Already you're getting pissed off at me. It's my fucking fault, that's what you're thinking, and it's not, dude. You knew who this chick was, and you went for it anyway. I didn't do that, you did! And don't say nothing to Stanz about the drumsticks, he'll freak out if he knew he'd played with snatch sticks."

"Then just forget about her."

"Forget about her? I can't just block that shit out of my mind, can't you hear what I'm saying? I ain't never tore a pussy up like that before. I don't want to get over it. I don't want to forget about it. I like it just the way it is. I don't want to have to respect this chick, and I don't think I ever can. I mean, what are you thinking, dude?"

"What happened between you two was all you, man, not her. You acted like a damn asshole. Am I wrong?"

"If that were the case, then she had plenty of time to figure it out. I mean, how many times do you think a chick needs to fuck a guy to realize he's a dog?"

"Kyle, you're now talking about my girlfriend. She's my girlfriend, that's how it is, and so watch it!"

"Let me tell you something, I know how it is, dude, because I had my dick up inside her, just like you do now. Trust me, I could have spent the rest of my life fucking that fine ass snatch, but at some point, after reaming her hollow, you're gonna have to pull out your dick, turn her around, and look her in the eye. Can you look your girlfriend in the eye, man? Can you honestly tell me you can look her in the eye and 'get over it'? Because I know I'll never be able to."

"For fuck's sake, I told you, there's nothing for me to get over."

"Well fuck, I proud of you, you're a real big man! What the fuck, dude? I mean, even if it doesn't bug the shit out of you now, it's gonna. Once that pussy loses its shiny newness, you're gonna hate her. You're gonna hate her so fucking bad, and you are gonna replace me as being A-number-one-biggest-asshole in her life, hands down."

"You didn't have shit with her, and I do, and that's the difference, fucker!"

I was sounding pretty upset at this point, I know it, so he paused, and took a deep frustrated breathe before continuing in a much calmer tone, "OK, that's exactly what I'm saying; I didn't have shit with her. And see, I'd understand if we did have a relationship. If we gave it a shot and failed, and then you two hit it off, then fine, dude, I'd be totally fine with that. But look at it from my point of view, I just exploited that pussy, dude, I tore it apart for my pleasure, and now that I'm done, I don't want that shit around. And now you're telling me you think you're in love or some shit, and you're gonna be clinging to this chick who I can't even look in the eye. You're asking me to respect someone I can't possibly respect, not in the way you want me to."

"I don't care, Kyle. Whatever happened between you two is dead, understand, so I don't even want to hear about it, anymore. And if you can't look her in the eye, then you'd better not ever look me in the eye!"

"Fuck it, dude, live in your little fantasy world for as long as you can. Nice knowing you."

He hung up and I slammed the phone down right afterwards.

When Rosemary arrived she presented me with a present, and I bit down on all the anger Kyle had stirred up in me, and tried to return to the moment and be happy again. The present was a box wrapped in black tissue paper, which I took to the couch while she grabbed herself a beer. I tore it open and found a shirt inside. I held it up and saw that it was one of her creations. She found an old black and blue bowling shirt, and replaced the back section with material she'd salvaged from a dress featuring a huge embroidered dragon. The dragon stretched from the collar to the hem, covering the entire backside of the shirt. It was awesome! I put it on over my T-shirt, and it fit perfect, almost as if it was tailored.

I looked at it in the mirror, and it was too much, I had this huge wave of emotion sweep over me, and I didn't know how to control it. I was happy and in-fucking-love, and I knew it, but I was extremely pissed off at Kyle and the rest of the world at the same time, for not leaving our happiness and us alone.

"You no like?"

"Oh man, I love it!"

"You sure, you don't look like you love it?"

"Yeah, I really do."

"I tried to keep it masculine. And I just knew I had to make something for you when I saw the dragon."

"It's cool. It really is."

"Okay." She then moved in between me and the mirror and slipped her arms around my waist. "Then what's wrong?"

I wanted to tell her nothing, but the whole accepting her as she is and being totally non judgmental was a double edged sword, in that I had to be completely honest about myself in return, so I tried to think of a way to sum up my feelings without the details, and said "Kyle called and was just his usual asshole self."

"I thought you two weren't very good friends."

"He still thinks we are. Or he thought we were."

"You seem pretty upset. Are you sure you weren't better friends than you thought?"

"That's not it. He just really gets to me." The anger in me seethed as I said that, and she'd heard it.

Letting go of me she moved towards the couch, but didn't sit down. Staring at the old metal off ramp sign I'd hung on my wall, announcing that Sepulveda was two miles ahead, she said, "Well, maybe it's my fault."

Her silly suggestion almost made me laugh, and I assured her, "It's not your fault."

She turned halfway around with her arms crossed in front of her, and looked at me. "Are you sure? I mean, I know this has always been a little awkward for you."

"It might be awkward for Kyle, but not me."

She unlocked her arms, turned to face me, and said, "Hmm, well, maybe it could still be my fault?"

Her reddish-brown eyes had grown intriguingly wide and her nostrils flared, looking like she was suddenly afraid to move without my approval. I immediately knew what her game was, and said, "Maybe. Maybe you can be blamed for some of this."

A smile momentarily appeared before she successful fought it off and her face returned to total submission. What ever anger I felt towards Kyle instantly transformed into an animal like lust for Rosemary. It made me realize how anger and lust are in dangerous proximity of each other, and once again, I found myself feeling this game was almost too dangerous to play. I was afraid to continue, but also compelled to. "What should I do with you?"

"I don't know. I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

I walked to her, "But you did do something wrong, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, but you soon will be."

I took her arm as I sat on the couch, and then pulled her towards me, positioning her with my other hand, and then laid her face down on the couch, with her pelvis on my lap. I lifted her skirt to reveal her black panty clad ass. God it was beautiful, and I was insane. Her face had disappeared into the cushions, this was between me and her ass, or more specifically, my hand and her ass. All my feelings had now drained into this disciplinary act, and as I raised my hand, I said, "You are wicked, and you know it. And I have no choice, I'm sorry." Then I spanked her hard. HARD!

"Uh," she squeaked into the couch cushion, and I spanked her again and again. Each one had to be harder than the last, and then I delivered a series of quick bursts that made her raise her head up and sequel. I pulled her panties free, because I was insane with desire and had to see the skin, the cheeks, the fat perfect shapes that couldn't possibly be anymore beautiful. I clawed the black panties down to her knees, and then struck her bare bottom with my palm. The noise was sharp and the meat tightly reverberated against my hand. Two more slaps and her pale cheeks turned scarlet.

I thought about Kyle telling me he'd shoved drumsticks into her, and I felt something leap up my spine and into my shoulders, then into my arm as it tensed and raised up. I looked at her ass, holding my hand over my head, and felt a connection between her breathtaking feminine shrine and that jack-off I was so pissed at. Possibly because he'd fucked it at one time, but it didn't really matter why, I just knew that as cute as it was, I had to hurt it to gain any relief at all. And I did, I slapped it hard and she curled her legs, shifting her ass sideways. I grabbed it and put it right back into place, then I slipped a hand in between her legs, and forced them apart as far as the underwear at her knees would allow. I then slid my finger along her pussy, feeling how wet she'd grown, and stuck it inside.

"You are fucking wicked," I said, and she surrendered with a loud sigh, as I worked my finger deeper into her sacred world. In no time I was digging in fast and furious and she made a safe place by cupping her palms together and hid within it her disgraceful face. Soon my finger was not enough. I had to get the real flesh of desire in there, and I had to do it now. With dire urgency I yanked my pants down as I ran to the bedroom and dug into our nightstand drawer for a few items.

Gone only a few seconds, I returned and positioned her knees on the couch to elevate her ass and open it up. The slight angle of her legs made it appear that her ass was moving away from me, and this would not do, so I grabbed her hips and pulled her back. Rosemary is pretty tight, but she doesn't have any problem getting wet, and there's never been a real use for lubricant, but then there's something sinfully cheap and exciting about lube. I snapped on the yellow, rubber gloves I'd brought with me and then uncapped a tube of Astro Glide. I was up close to her snatch, pulling one cheek to the side with my gloved hand, and watched closely the almost clinical act of inserting the small coned tip inside her, and then I squeezed until the entire tube was empty. I grabbed a second little tube, but this time I slipped the whole thing inside her plus my finger tips before squeezing it empty. The third one I pushed even deeper inside, clear up to my second gloved knuckle. Watching this sleazy procedure got me so totally fired up that I almost shot off early. Then I had this weird sensation, like I was readying her pussy for an execution. I bumped my hips into hers, and it was so slippery I could barely land on target. But once I did, look out! My cock was extremely hard, and lube was dripping through my pubs and hers. Her dress was still flipped up over her back, and I pulled it down enough to grab her belt and get a good tight grip on it, since my gloves were glistening with lube. Using the leather belt to yank her against me, I fucked her for all she was worth. If you actually could execute a pussy by fucking it, the fucking I gave this one should've done just that.